


Galway Bay/Cold Wind Blows on the Soles of my Feet

by Ideal_Flower



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:28:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ideal_Flower/pseuds/Ideal_Flower
Summary: Maybe she hadn’t bought him anything, or maybe she got him something painfully practical - like a series of Henleys in carefully chosen neutrals, or a pair of new shoes, or Changing Careers for Dummies, 3rd ed. December calling, in a post-Season 4 AU.   Advent Calendar: December 10





	

**Galway Bay/Cold Wind Blows on the Soles of my Feet**

He was just about to hit _call_. It was the same number that he had always dialled before, to enter his personal sixteen-digit identification pin, and then rattle off the code Rob had sent him. And then his phone would be dead. He would be dark, and in six hours he would be over international waters, en route to another fucking hellhole. 

But when it rang instead, he nearly dropped it. He stared at the name on the screen, chewing the edge of his lip, waiting until the last possible second to answer. He nearly missed it.

“Yeah.” He kept his voice clipped, immediately regretting it - answering the phone - after the way their last conversation went. But then, he had always been a bit of a masochist. 

_“I’m kind of in the middle of something.”_

_“I can’t deal with anything else right now.”_

_“If it’s a no, just say.”_

“It’s not a no,” she said this time, without even offering a hello. 

He froze, halfway through piling pieces of his computer hard-drive into the microwave. The microwave’s door swung back and took a little chip out of the wall. Not that he cared about his damage deposit at this point.

“Quinn?” Carrie’s voice quivered. “Are you there?” 

“Uh… yeah.”

She laughed then, and he could hear it in her voice. He could hear everything in her voice. “It was never a no.”

_...December..._

It took a bit more to wake him now. Every sound in the house was so familiar, so comforting - like the pictures on all the Christmas cards that Carrie had hung up on a garland above the front window. They had sparkles and winter snowscapes and one even belted out an electronic _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_ when it opened. It had been Frannie’s new favourite toy until Carrie finally couldn’t stand it anymore, and promptly hung it up next to the card from Maggie and Bill, the one that left little blue and silver glitter on her hands. He was still finding the glitter on his neck and stomach and even the bottoms of his feet nearly four days later. 

Frannie cooed somewhere downstairs and Carrie laughed in response. Quinn opened one eye and glanced at the bedside clock. He had overslept - it was nearly 0730. The blinds were shut, but a dull sort of grey light crept in from outside, flickering, and there was a telltale howl of wind that rattled the window that Carrie had been asking him to fix for two weeks. 

He thought about going back to sleep. There was nowhere to be, nothing to chase, no one to see. They had just bought a new mattress - Carrie had twisted his arm for the king, and he was secretly glad she did, even though he would sooner volunteer for playdate duty than admit it. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” The other side of the bed gave in as Carrie kneeled on it. She crawled across the thick mound of blankets to reach him, until he could feel her breath on the back of his neck as she leaned in and kissed the side of his jaw. “You okay? It’s late.”

He grunted, stretching his legs out and rolling over onto his back to peer up at her. She was dressed in pantsuit casual, her hair pooling into his face, and her expression somewhere between amusement and concern. “Yeah, fine… didn’t get a wakeup call this morning, is all.” His lips twitched as her eyebrows rose, the entendre hanging in the air between them. He could smell coffee on her breath. 

“Is that so?” she asked, leaning one forearm on his chest, her free hand travelling down to the approximate position of his stomach, her fingertips lightly pressing into the quilt. They watched each other for a second, until he tried to lean up and kiss her, and she ducked her head to avoid him, shrieking with laughter as he suddenly grabbed her arm and flung her onto her back. 

“You’re a god damn tease, you know that, right?” he asked, hovering over her, the blankets a thick wedge separating them. 

“You flatterer-“ she started, but didn’t continue, his open mouth cutting her off. She slackened against him, her hands finding his hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He broke the kiss after a second. 

“When will you be back?” he asked, smoothing a strand of hair that had clung to her cheek. 

“Just my last polygraph, so after lunch.” Carrie squirmed to free her hand and look at her watch. “Although it depends on the weather.”

Quinn was nearly too busy looking at that hollow in the centre of her throat to hear it. Then he frowned. “Weather?”

“Yeah, it’s snowing.” Carrie tapped him on the shoulder, and he pulled back at the signal, letting her out from under him to scramble back off the bed. She dusted her clothes off, wincing at the wrinkle in her blouse. He lifted himself onto his elbows, watching as she walked across the room to abruptly open the blinds.

He squinted at the sudden light, holding one hand up in front of his face. “Jesus, Carrie!”

She ignored his protest, and opened the other one. He could see the fat snowflakes blowing past the tree outside. “Just because you’re out now, doesn’t mean you can just be a bum all day.” She vanished into the bathroom, and he heard the cabinet open and close. He hauled himself out of bed as she continued talking at him. “Frannie’s had breakfast. So she should be good to go for a few hours-“

Shit, it had snowed nearly six inches overnight. Quinn frowned, watching as two teenagers pushed a stalled Volkswagen up the street through a mostly unplowed road. He glanced over his shoulder at the open bathroom door as he hurried into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. “Carrie, are you sure you should be driving? I don’t want you driving-“

She rolled her eyes at him as he appeared in the doorway. “Relax. I’ve called a car.”

“Well, call ‘em back and ask for a fucking panzer.” 

She laughed, rolling her lipstick tube closed and tossing it back with its friends in one whole drawer. “It’ll be fine.” 

Downstairs, Frannie was sitting in her highchair, playing with a block set as Quinn inspected the back deck through the sliding glass doors. Carrie’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor in the hall as there was a faint beep of a horn outside. “Shit shit shit,” she said, jogging through the kitchen, throwing things into her shoulder bag, unplugging her iphone from the counter outlet. “Where’s my jacket? I swear I just _had_ it-“

“Chair by the door,” Quinn said, taking a drink of the lukewarm coffee that she had poured him earlier, in anticipation of his usual get-up time. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” She kissed him breathlessly, quickly, then paused before kissing him again. “See you later. Love you.”

“You too.” He smiled down at her until a longer, much more impatient horn honked from the street. 

“Shit!” Carrie pulled back, kissing Frannie on the top of her strawberry head as she passed. “Bye, baby.”

“Bye-bye,” Frannie replied brightly, barely glancing up from smashing a yellow wooden triangle into its neighbouring green square. The front door slammed and Quinn sighed, draining the last dregs from his coffee cup. Frannie looked up at him and gurgled a little, giggling as she continued her green cube massacre. 

“Think we should go out and shovel?” Quinn asked her dryly, glancing again at the snow outside. It was starting to coat the glass windows in little crystal patterns. 

“Cookie!” Frannie declared. “Cookie, cookie, cookie.”

“Right, me neither.”

…

By noon, the snow had yet to let up, but the wind had at least died down. Frannie had abandoned her block siege and gave a series of delighted shrieks when he retrieved her pink and purple snowsuit from the hall closet. She squirmed happily into it and then impatiently waited as Quinn pulled on his own coat and boots. They stood by the front door and Frannie gave him a toothy grin. 

“You ready for this?” Quinn asked her, because he wasn’t sure if he was. She laughed and leaned against the door to try and reach the knob. He jammed a wool beanie on his head before he gently pried her off the doorframe and opened the door. A blast of cool air hit him, and Frannie wobbled happily across the threshold, promptly falling into the drift that had gathered on the front stoop. He immediately reached out and righted her, but she giggled and plopped down, digging her fists into the snow and eating a rather large mouthful of it. 

He shrugged, stepping around her and shutting the door. “Let’s just avoid the yellow stuff, okay, Kid?”

She ignored him, too busy licking the snowflakes off her snowsuit. He shovelled the stoop off first, rearranging Frannie every time she got in the way, curious as to what he was doing, then trying to help him, pushing the snow off the stairs with her little mittened hands. He shovelled off the walkway as she ran unsteady circles in the freshly cleared space behind him, and when Mrs. Huntington next door waved hello on her way out, Frannie clung to his legs shyly until the woman got into an SUV and left. 

The plow went by twice and each time, Frannie held out her short arms and demanded, “up!”, and so he perched her on his hip and she watched in wonder as the vehicle went rumbling down the street. The Christmas lights that the HOA had hung up on the outside iron gate were still on, and Quinn peered back at the pine wreath that Carrie had made him hang on the front door at the beginning of the month. Some crazy HOA rule demanded it, complete with the order of compliance that Mrs. Huntington had sweetly delivered to them promptly on November the 30th. He had wired the lights in the wreath to turn on automatically at dark, and thought about doing the same to the gate’s strand. 

He glanced down at Frannie, who was watching the street now with a troubled, sleepy sigh. “Maybe save that for another day, huh,” he said to her. She yawned.

“You want to go inside and have a cookie?” he asked her. She immediately perked up at the word, repeating it back.

“Cookie, cookie, cookie.” 

She barely made it through lunch before falling asleep. He tucked her in for a nap, pleased with himself - because it hadn’t been so easy for weeks - and then shovelled the back deck too. The house always got strangely quiet when Frannie was sleeping, almost as if there were no 15-month-old baby living there, except for the toys on the table, and the miniature shoes lined up by the door, and that heavy, hot feeling in his chest. He thought about his son - if he would’ve looked at him the same way Frannie did, if he would’ve giggled and clapped his hands, and have a strange affliction for raisins with peanut butter. 

There was already a mountain of presents underneath the Christmas tree they had set up last week. Carrie had insisted on a real tree, even though it left a trail of fir needles over the house. Almost all of the presents next to it were for Frannie, some for Carrie, even a few for him, his name written in Maggie’s precise, handwritten script. This was the first Christmas in years that he had someone to buy a gift for, and he was 0 for 1 after spending all last Saturday looking hopelessly in nearly every shop in CityCenter. As of yet, there was no present for him from Carrie. Maybe she hadn’t bought him anything, or maybe she got him something painfully practical - like a series of Henleys in carefully chosen neutrals, or a pair of new shoes, or _Changing Careers for Dummies, 3rd ed._

He wanted to buy her something nice - something that meant _something_. But was that some eclectic jazz album that she would play nonstop for three weeks, or a piece of clothing that somehow sold for thousands of dollars, despite the fact that it was made in China for pennies, or was it a diamond ring - were they even _there_ yet? He was. It was an uncomfortable thought and he felt the anxiety churn in his stomach every time it crossed his mind. 

Quinn reorganized the presents by size, swept up the newest layer of fallen needles, and then headed upstairs. He had been initially uncomfortable living at Carrie’s house, using her things, folding his pitiful collection of clothes in the space she cleared for him in the closet. Brody had been here, Javadi’s goons had been here, an illegal surveillance operation with Max and Virgil had been in the very living room that Frannie played in every morning. Carrie had started talking about moving - to New York - and there was a pile of real estate magazines on her night table, with little yellow post-its sticking out of the top. It was a relief, and so he bought her a stack of guidebooks and joined her yesterday for the first realtor meeting. They had argued about neighbourhoods, and school prospects and green space, and the poor realtor had blushed and fumbled with her paperwork until Carrie rolled her eyes at his smirk and gave the woman an overly sugared smile. They had made a detour into the fifth-floor bathroom on their way out of the office high-rise, where he had to clamp his hand firmly over her mouth to muffle her sounds, and she had viciously bitten his palm in response. 

Quinn glanced down at the bruise still along the skin by his thumb, as he reached the upstairs landing. Frannie gave a soft sigh from the second room, but when he peeked in she was soundly asleep, hand tucked around a plush toy, a small frown on her face. She looked a lot like her mother then, and it was easier than ever to forget her real parentage. 

He turned the shower on in the ensuite bathroom, cracking his shoulders as he opened the medicine cabinet. He checked Carrie’s weekly pill box guiltily, almost needlessly, because she definitely knew he kept track - and if she decided to go off the lithium, she’d probably hide it better. But the little blue section labelled F was empty, and he felt the familiar relief as he closed the cabinet. 

The water was hot, almost unbearable, but in the way that he liked. He left his clothes pooled on the floor, despite the laundry hamper not two feet over, and stepped into the shower. He let the steam hit the back of his neck as he stood there, eyes closed for a second. It was still new - his retirement, his routine, his role as nanny that Carrie teased him about (but that he actually truly enjoyed). He needed this lull, this break, after so many years of absolute clusterfuck. 

“You’re not planning on alphabetizing my shampoo again, are you?” an amused voice laughed suddenly.

He nearly jumped, but his eyes flew open and to the right, where Carrie stood on the other side of the sheer curtain, it pulled back slightly so that she could stick her head in. 

“There’s still time left,” Quinn replied dryly, lifting a hand and wiping the water away from his eyes. She vanished away from the curtain, but he heard her rustling by the sink. “How’d it go?” he called, raising his voice above the shower. 

“How’d what go?” 

His cheek twitched with annoyance. “The fucking polygraph, _Carrie_.”

The curtain pulled back abruptly and Carrie stepped in next to him, immediately backing him up so she could hog the warm water. She turned her back to him, pressing herself into his chest and her body giving a violent shiver. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and she tugged his other arm around her too, the length of her spine digging down his stomach, and his body responded easily. Blood warmed the pit of his groin and his hips pushed forward, finding the gentle friction against her skin. Her face turned slightly, a small smile on her lips.

“Cold?” he asked her, resting his chin on her shoulder, his palms circling her ribs, her hips, down the insides of her thighs. 

“Getting better.” She twisted further back to kiss him, although it was too quick, and mostly sweet. “I passed.”

Quinn had forgotten what he had even asked, his mouth impatiently on her neck, and she sighed as he pressed the width of his palm up between her legs. “Hm,” was all he said, tilting her pelvis back, his thumb circling, his index finger easily pushing into her. Carrie threw out a hand to clutch at the wall, her chest hitching, and one of her feet lifted up, her weight shifting, even though he held her firmly in place. 

“I’m out -“ She panted, squirming against the pressure of his thumb as he pried his other hand from her hip, reaching up and settling his palm at the base of her throat. Her pulse pounded along the web below his index finger and he lightly tightened his grip as she trembled suddenly, and then her back jerked forward, nearly slipping from his hands. He used one hand to reach behind him and turn the shower off, while his other arm kept her on her feet. 

It was strangely quiet for a moment, as Carrie leaned against him. He felt the goosebumps erupt on her skin and he kissed her jaw briefly before releasing her. From the other room, Frannie was gurgling and then talking - _mummy. Mummmmeeeee. Mum mum mum mum._

Carrie laughed, taking the towel Quinn held out for her as he stepped out of the shower. “Sorry,” she said softly, quirking her head a bit to the left, tying the towel around her chest. She vanished from the bathroom, piling her damp hair away from her neck as she went to attend to the toddler. 

“Sure.” He ran his hands through his hair as he dried off, redressing in the same clothes he had put on earlier. He sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on when Carrie came back into the room, carrying a happy Frannie. When she saw him, she immediately held out her hands and declared, “up, Quee!” which was the best impression of his name that she had managed so far. Carrie offered Frannie to him and he accepted her, her little palms immediately pressing into his face as she tried to stand on his thigh. He held her steady, even as her fingers tried to go up his nose. He imagined sometimes that she would call him some version of _Dad_ , but it had only been a few months, and Carrie still only referred to him as _Quinn_.

“She was out for a while,” Carrie said, glancing at the time as she entered the closet to dress. 

“We had a little outside adventure.”

Carrie immediately reappeared in the closet doorway, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans. “You did?” Her eyebrows were high in her forehead. “Did she wear her-“

“Yep.”

“And her-“

“Yep.” 

Frannie ignored her mother as Carrie came over and sat beside them, smoothing the back of the toddler’s jumper, who was busy inspecting Quinn’s teeth, her newest fascination as her own baby teeth grew in. When she smacked her knuckles against his lower gums, he gently tugged her fingers from his mouth. “Alright, Fran, I still need those.”

At his refusal, Frannie pouted and squirmed from his lap, sitting on the floor and starting in on his stocking feet, tugging at his toes. Carrie laughed and Quinn watched her. She had been so level the last few months - was it her daily dose of lithium, or was she just _happy_ where they were? The edges of her hair were a bit frizzy, the dampness curling them against her neck, and her cheeks were pink, maybe from the cold wind outside, maybe from the shower. God, it fucking hurt - that feeling in every part of him. 

“So that’s it?” he asked her, his hand finding the edge of her arm, palm sliding under to cup her elbow. “Nothing else at Langley?”

She looked up at him, light eyes crinkling. “Security clearance revoked, badge passed in. Just a regular old civilian now.” She nudged against him, teasing briefly, before sighing and leaning her cheek against his shoulder. He pulled his arm out from where it was caught between them, running his hand over her neck and then across her back, finally tugging her closer. 

“Normal life,” he said after a moment’s silence.

“Yeah.” Carrie tittered. “Speaking of, Maggie wants us at four tomorrow.”

“I thought dinner was at six.” 

“I know, but it’s been a while since the girls have seen Frannie, and Maggie has this whole thing planned-“ She glanced over at his expression. “And really, the sooner we have dinner, the sooner you and Bill can drink that expensive bottle of scotch he’s been talking about for two months, and the sooner that everyone can go to bed so _Santa_ can come.” Some sort of guilt must have passed over his face because she leaned back to get a better look at him. “Why? Do you have somewhere else to be on Christmas Eve?”

“Well, no, it’s just…” He paused, thinking of his uneventful shopping trips and the credit card burning a hole in his pocket. “What do you want for Christmas?”

Carrie blinked at him, then smiled wryly. “Never would’ve pegged you for a last minute shopper.” 

He winced, feeling the tips of his ears start to warm. “Carrie…”

She laughed at his discomfort, shifting to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling her legs up onto the bed so that she could climb into his lap. His hands found the wide part of her hips, and she lightly rocked into him, ruffling the back of his hair with her fingers. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. Frannie giggled somewhere in the background, and Quinn watched Carrie’s eyes flicker before settling on his. Her lips landed lightly on him, not quite a kiss, but enough so that he could taste her lipstick, feel the tip of her cold nose. 

“Do you want to get married?”

He hadn’t quite intended to say it - it had just come out. And not like that. But before he could even regret it, just as his spine was stiffening, Carrie tightened her arms on him and smiled so wide he left a ghost of a kiss on her teeth. 

“Yes, yes, yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
